


Rough, Fast, And Thoroughly Satisfying

by lookupkate



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF John, Begging, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:01:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2380877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookupkate/pseuds/lookupkate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a kink. It surprises even him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rough, Fast, And Thoroughly Satisfying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yarnjunkie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yarnjunkie/gifts).



> Stitchedopen on Tumblr asked for smutty johnlock with bottomlock. Hope you like it .

It started out innocently enough. John had realised, a bit late since he'd already given him Irene's phone, that Sherlock only said please to him when he wanted something. After letting the bugger get away with it more times than he should he started musing to himself. What would make Sherlock beg? 

He'd told the Woman that he didn't, sure, but they both knew that wasn't true. It was along the same lines as the sociopath lie; something to get the focus off his innate humanity. He wanted so badly to be inhuman, fetishized it if you asked John. 

"I need some. Get me some." Sherlock said with a stomp. 

'Now', John thought, 'now is the perfect time to test my theory'. 

"No." he replied calmly. 

"Please, John." Sherlock tried. 

Instead of an outright immediate no John cleared his throat and rattled the newspaper. Sherlock took notice quick as a whip. He turned as if he could feel the change, taste it in the air. He was a genius, after all, and a quick study with human behavior. He knew things about John even John didn't know. This was, however, not one of those things. John knew just as well as his companion that when he was deciding whether or not to stand his ground he would clear his throat. 

He'd played poker enough in the army to know his own tells, he wasn't an idiot after all. So yeah, he knew that he licked his lips at unfortunate moments and had a habit of checking his watch when he was frustrated. He wondered if Sherlock knew that he was on the other side of the microscope just now, being watched, observed. 

It seemed that Sherlock put so much energy into observing others that there was none left for self observation. John would often be amazed when he told Sherlock to stop doing something he thought of as uniquely Sherlockian just to have the git pout and say 'I don't do that'. Call attention to his body language or behavior loud enough and he'd look outraged. Silly man. 

"John." he purred, drawing out the single syllable to ridiculous length. 

"Hmm?" John asked. 

"John, I need one, just one." Sherlock replied, moving closer and doing that eyelash flapping thing John just hated. Well, hate's a strong word. 

John pretended not to be listening, making his eyes follow the words slowly down the page. Sherlock stood from his half perch, something he did to ingratiate himself to people he thought of as 'small' and squared his shoulders. A few more moments and he'd-

"Please." Sherlock whispered. 

There it was. That perfect word. From the way the man acted you'd have thought his mother never taught him that word. John breathed it in and set down the paper. 

"What was that?" he asked. 

"Please, John. Please." Sherlock said, his 'innocent doe' look on in full force. 

"I like you begging. Do it again." John said with a slight upturn of the lip. 

Sherlock stopped what he was doing, the look and sweet voice falling away almost immediately as he watched John for some sign of what the hell was going on. With all the false catchings of innocence gone he looked almost alien. His eyes flitting this way and that while the rest of his face remained motionless. John liked him like this, thinking, puzzling away. 

"Please." He said slowly, voice back to its normal timbre and eyes questioning. 

"There's one hidden in my tea box. Just one. Smoke it outside." John said sternly. 

Sherlock stood a bit straighter and started to walk towards the kitchen before stopping himself and turning to once more face John. When he spoke his voice was soft, although not falsely so, and gentle. 

"Thank you, John."

\-----

The second time it happened they were on a crime scene. Sherlock had royally pissed off the whole of the squad and was walking the length of the police tape like he might practice a bit of self-immolation. John was leaning against the brick building to the left and watching him move, waiting for him to break. He wasn't going to help the mad bastard out of this one unless he asked properly. 

When Sherlock finally approached he was looking at John as if he could solve every problem they would ever face. That was the way things went, John took care of the human aspect and Sherlock handled everything else. 

"She shouldn't have been here if she was vomiting all morning." he said with soft anger. 

"Christ, Sherlock, it's pregnancy, not the plague." John sighed. 

"I need to see the crime scene." Sherlock replied weakly. 

"Then you need to apologize and ask nicely, yeah?" John asked, eyebrows raised. 

Sherlock scowled but turned and did just that. John barely heard the 'thank you' as Lestrade held the tape up for him. He smiled softly. 

\-----

Later that night, well, the next morning, after solving the murder and running around downtown to catch the baddie, John made them both tea. They were still grinning like idiots and John had time to think how much this felt like their first night running through London together before Sherlock walked closer and did something a bit odd. 

"I didn't, erm, ask nicely for the tea and well, I just thought maybe I should, well, properly, just..." the svelte man said softly, pushing his cup over to John. "That is, John, may I please have some tea?" 

He looked completely flustered and it took John a second to pull together what he meant from his disjointed request. He watched a flush reach up out of Sherlock's collar and touch high on his cheekbones. 

"Course you can." he said, pushing the cup back over to Sherlock's side of the table. 

Sherlock picked the cup up, said a quick 'thank you' and left for his room. 

\-----

Now that Sherlock had started he couldn't seem to stop. John's answer to everything was tea and now Sherlock would reply 'yes, please' when asked if he wanted a cuppa. John would smile a special sort of smile that Sherlock couldn't decipher and make him one like always. John didn't realise he was expecting it until they were at the yard later the next week. 

Lestrade had called them down to a crime scene earlier that day and things had gone so well that Sherlock led them right to the killer. That was nothing out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary was that the killer refused to talk to anyone but Sherlock, insisting that he would only tell his story to the man who'd bested him. 

Lestrade tried to get the man to talk one last time while the two men and half of the yard stood in the hall outside the interrogation room waiting. Sherlock was pacing back and forth and John decided that since he didn't get breakfast he should have a cuppa with as much milk as he could handle. 

"I'm going for tea." he said. "Do you want some?" 

"Yes, of course." Sherlock spit. 

John stood where he was for a second before Sherlock looked up. 

"That's not very gracious." John said sternly. 

Sherlock's eyebrows drew together and he looked like a lost little boy for a second before he spoke. "Please forgive me, John. I would greatly appreciate some tea. Please." 

Sally was the first to laugh, followed by Anderson, obviously. Several others joined in as Sherlock's face grew red. 

"You've got him bloody trained! I wouldn't believe it if I didn't see it with my own eyes!" Sally quipped. 

Sherlock stormed from the hall and John shot the bitch a stony look before following him out into the street. Sherlock was already hopping into a cab when John caught up and looked for all the world to be leaving John behind. 

"Sherlock!" John called, taking the last few leaps to make it to the cab door. 

He wasn't fast enough. Sherlock slammed the door and the cab sped away leaving John out of breath and very unhappy. At the last second, as Sherlock had looked back when his name was called, the taller man's face was scrunched up as if in pain. It unsettled John greatly. 

He stuck his arm out and hailed a cab himself, wondering if Sherlock was headed home. He gave the driver the address and they sped along to Baker Street without another word. 

\-----

When John walked into the flat he could see Sherlock through the window on the fire escape smoking. He went to the kitchen and put some water on to boil and then walked to the window and opened it. 

"Sherlock, look, I'm sorry I embarrassed you." He said to Sherlock's back. 

"There's something wrong with me." Sherlock replied quietly. 

His voice was shaking and his shoulders were drawn forward and John knew, just knew, he was crying. It was a horrible thought; that he'd brought the great detective to tears. He placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and the man pulled away from it. 

"Sherlock, there's nothing wrong with you." He said calmly. 

Sherlock's shoulders drew back and he turned, looking at John with what were in fact bloodshot eyes. "You can't say that because you don't know!" he shouted. 

"Don't know what?" John pleaded. 

"What you DO to me!" Sherlock said, tossing the cigarette over his shoulder and stalking closer. 

John took an instinctual step back as Sherlock moved into his personal space. He almost stuck his hand out to stop Sherlock from coming in closer. He was glad he didn't. In the next second Sherlock was knelt as his feet with his face pressed against John's thigh. 

"John." he murmured. 

John let his hand rest gently upon Sherlock's head as the other man shook. 

"Tell me what you mean. Tell me what's upsetting you so." John begged. And he did beg, Christ, he begged like he was asking for his life to be spared. 

"It happened the first time. I couldn't stop it." Sherlock whispered. 

"What happened?" John asked, growing a bit more concerned. 

"I was...affected by what you asked of me. You told me to beg and..." Sherlock began. 

When he trailed off John continued. "You became aroused." 

Sherlock sobbed against John's trousers and it made the older man sick. 

"Alright, that's enough. I won't have you crying out here on the fire escape. Come with me inside and I'll make you some tea." John said, pushing the curls back from Sherlock's forehead. 

"You're not...disgusted?" Sherlock asked, eyes red and worried. 

John smiled sadly at him before shaking his head. "No. Of course I'm not. Come on, up you go." 

\-----

John poured the tea and started two pieces of toast before sitting down next to Sherlock on the sofa. He knew they'd have to talk about this. It was something he'd seen variations of as a doctor. People would come in confused as to why certain things were arousing them. They always seemed to think it was outside the norm. John would have to explain that there was no norm. That the norm was outside the norm. He never thought he'd have to explain it to a friend. 

"Sherlock." he said softly. "Sherlock, these feelings, this arousal, it's all perfectly normal. People have all different kinds of...triggers. You've just found one is all. If you want to, um, explore it in more depth I'd be willing to-" 

John was cut off by the air being knocked out of him. One moment he was setting down his tea and the next moment a frantic Sherlock was pouncing on him and pulling at the hem of his shirt. Sherlock kissed his neck and John felt a bit lightheaded. 

"Jesus, Sher, slow down." He whimpered. 

Sherlock shook his head as he started on John's buttons. 

"Sherlock! Fuck! Are you sure you want this? I can't just, I mean, I won't be able to go back." John said, the admission scaring him a little. 

"John, all I want is you. It's all I've been able to think of. Please, please, I'm begging you. You like that, don't you, John? When I beg for you?" Sherlock asked as he ground his hips down. 

"Oh, bloody hell! Yes, gorgeous boy!" John said then, taking a moment to be embarrassed by the pet name. 

Sherlock pulled his shirt open and rubbed his face against John's chest, breath coming in hot puffs and making John squirm. 

"Please, John! Please!" Sherlock begged as he began practically humping John's lap. 

"Christ! Tell me what you need."

"I need you to touch me." Sherlock whimpered. "John, please touch me." 

John wrestled with Sherlock's trousers and finally pulled them down to the man's thighs. He pulled his cock from the restriction of his pants and gave it one quick stroke. Sherlock's eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped forward with his face against John's neck. John chuckled and moved his hand teasingly, eliciting moans from the detective and kissing the top of his head. 

He picked up speed and flicked his wrist and Sherlock started to thrust his hips and grunt. His cock grew impossibly harder and he mumbled something into John's neck. 

"You're close." John said. "You can come when you ask nicely." 

Sherlock barely got the 'please' from his lips before he was making aborted little thrusts and covering John's hand and stomach with hot come. John stroked him through the after shocks and rubbed his back soothingly. After a few minutes of quiet Sherlock drew in a shaky breath and spoke. 

"Do you want...do you want me to suck you?"

John chuckled and held him tight. "We'll take care of me later. Right now I just want to hold you." 

Sherlock sighed and went back to being boneless against John's chest and the older man kissed his neck and thanked the gods. 

\-----

When Sherlock's mobile rang a half hour later both men were happy to go back down to the Met with their 'just been fucked' glow. John helped Sherlock redress and the younger man gave him a quick hand job before they left. It was rough and fast and thoroughly satisfying. That was generally the way with Sherlock, after all.


End file.
